


Pluck This Crawling Serpent from My Breast

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Miles act like children, beat each other up, get smutty and have angsty cuddle time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluck This Crawling Serpent from My Breast

It hit him on the back of the head, ruffling the already messy hair lightly, and tumbling forward over his shoulder.

“What the-?”

He gathered the projectile pillow up off the floor and turned to find the perpetrator of this grievous crime.

A brief flash of golden hair met him before another object came flying. The illustrated atlas took him in the shoulder.

“Hey!”

“What the hell did you say to my daughter, Miles?”

The cold blue eyes sunk into him, dug beneath his skin and he realized that he’d forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of Rachel’s rage.

He threw the pillow back forcefully and she caught it, deftly and with a steady whoop as her arms clapped around the fluff.

“Nothing! And you need to get a grip.”

That was the wrong answer.

She was on top of him within seconds. His training was more than a fair match for her, but with her height and sheer passion, he soon found himself against the wall, muffled by the smell of sweat and homemade soap as the heel of her hand pressed against his face.

“Wakil—” he garbled unintelligently, “Wakil, swap.”

He managed to get his hand down to her waist, and the brief intention of dipping lower flashed across his mind. He settled for a quick blow to her stomach and she released him. As Rachel stumbled backward, his hand collided with her head out of instinct.

She swung her face upward, eyes wide and shocked and a small trickle of blood escaping her pale lips.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, taking a step towards her, “but that was uncall—”

The concrete came up quickly. She had barreled him to the ground and now straddled his body, and suddenly her fists were coming and gratitude filled him that she had never properly learned to throw a punch because after the second hit she cried out in pain and continued to pound relentlessly but harmlessly on his chest.

“That’s for Charlie and Danny and me and Ben and everyone else whose lives you’ve ruined.” The anger burned into the back of her throat and he figured he deserved the saliva that sprayed from her mouth as much as the blows.

Still, Miles caught her flailing hands with ease and pushed back, his fingers digging into her wrists until they glowed white and they both had made it to a sitting position.

“Yeah, well the world? You ended it,” he barked coldly in her face.

All her features stilled and for a moment he thought tears were next.

Instead, copper filled his mouth and he realized that cracked and bloody lips had pressed against his.

They were still fighting, tongues and teeth and limbs battling as he felt her heavy weight press against his, and he pressed back. She was trying, he realized, to get him on his back again and while dominance was something she may have deserved, Miles didn’t intend to leave this encounter ripped to shreds. 

His teeth found her lip sharply and Rachel let out a high pitched noise, in pain or pleasure or sheer annoyance, Miles didn’t know. He gathered her face in his large hands and leaned forward. Caught in the kiss, she fell back.

Trapped under him, her fingernails trailed down his sleeve and a sudden wave of arousal surged. He wanted their heavy clothing off and he wanted it off now.

Rachel’s hands were already at his belt buckle and he reciprocated by grabbing the edge of her shirt and ripping upward. Once her head had been cleared by the musty fabric, she claimed his mouth again.

He pushed off to rid himself of his jacket and shirt, pressing back down as warm breasts pooled against his chest. He’d missed this. They’d always been too different, in looks, attitudes, philosophies, but he had missed her brains scraping against his brawn; the sparks struck a place in him few others knew existed, let alone could reach.

She took a distracting hold of him between them, slender fingers dancing blindly down his length.

Miles knew she’d never let Ben force her down like this, or bite to leave marks, nor would Ben want to, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Bass had. The scene churned low in his gut and he didn’t want to know if the sensation was disgust or if it was helping him get off. Miles had drawn the line with Rachel at threats and knives and brands, not daring to venture beyond a suggestive touch. He’d done enough damage without more and his wandering mind painted inflamed skin and peeling burns and caked blood across Rachel’s uncovered body.

She stroked at an angle just right and the image dissolved as he closed in on satisfaction.

Rachel withdrew her hand just before he toppled over the edge.

He grunted in frustration and watched her smirk up at him, gifting him a classic raised eyebrow. Still, her eyes were nearly black and he got his revenge by grinding against her and reveling in the groan of her own exasperation.

“Pants off. Now.” Her order was dry and scratchy.

Miles was quick to obey and considered drawing it out, trailing his calloused hands down her soft and scarred thighs and relishing her squirms. He was, however, too ready to be inside her, and didn’t trust her to lay there with her hair fanning out, looking flushed and beautiful, and just take the teasing.

He pressed anxious fingers into her, the damp and the heat stirring shifting memories low in him. God, they had been something once, more than just a haven in the storm.

“Miles—” It was a whisper, an exclamation or command or regret.

He entered her gently, but the roughness soon returned. Sweaty hands clutched his biceps and he could’ve sworn that she growled at him. She wasn’t close enough, he grasped blindly through the sensation of her wrapped around him. Suddenly her arms were around his neck, squeezing and clinging and Miles wasn’t sure which direction she was forcing him.

His teeth gnashed together, but he starved off the aching need and followed. He supported her back and awkwardly positioned them upright, her in his lap, a unit glued together with sweat and dirt.

Rachel wasted no time in rocking against him. Shallow breaths flirted dangerously near his ear and she was close, both to him and to release.

Sore muscles clenched in him or her—they were all the same now—and the end began.

The world was spinning, and he felt her jerk against him, as he emptied. She sighed into his shoulder with a wet mouth and a light bite as the spasms died down. Miles gasped for air, steadying himself by watching her rise and fall with his chest.

 It was probably too soon, with him still inside her, but Miles couldn’t help himself.

“Did you have something to ask me about Charlie?”

“You’re a son of a bitch,” came the muffled response to his skin. Rachel placed her hands on his chest and shoved him away, climbing off of him.

He wasn’t quite ready to relinquish the moment to reality edging between them.

Miles caught her and brought her back to him, forcing his chest against her sticky back and wrapping long arms around her. She didn’t resist, but hesitated slightly before sinking into him. He fought the urge to bury himself in her curls smelling of rain and dirt and pleasure.

“It’s just sex, Miles.”

“Is that why you had to beat me up first?”

She was silent and he could almost see the furrow in her brow and quibble in her jaw.

He shifted and Rachel must have been terrified that he was going to move away because she clung tighter to him, moist palms clamped onto his limbs.

The room still wavered and with the afterglow he felt drained, exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye floated her head tucked under his chin and suddenly the blonde mass went blurry.

He wasn’t crying.

The proper term was simply getting choked up and nothing in his brain could sort out why, except the familiarity of the position from a clear night when he visited her in the hospital after Danny’s birth, and she’d screamed bloody murder at one of the nurses, and Miles never wanted to spend so long without a drink in the empty smell of a white room again, but he’d stayed because she was frightful mess until her only son survived.

Now Danny was dead and he was still holding her.

That was too deep too quickly and he shifted Rachel’s body against him. She moved to rub in the right places and any emotional trauma was buried under the tingle of pleasure that crept across their bare skin.

They didn’t have enough time now for the slow, second round that was always the sweetest. He wondered if they’d ever have enough time again.

“Rachel?” he asked sternly and quietly.

“Yes?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

He felt her swallow. She might have a damn good poker face, but her shoulders tensed in worry against his bare chest.

Miles took a deep breath.

“You fight like a cornered street cat. Ask Charlie to teach you some things.”

She gave his shin a violent kick. He hooked his finger beneath her jaw and tilted upward, capturing her lips between his teeth again, and her foot came down in the same spot.

The bruise the next day would be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> *runs and hides* I can’t believe I wrote like actual sex, not the esoteric, poetic stuff I usually do. Don’t judge me; I’m a baby smut-writer. And this isn't even that smutty. Also, context is while they were at the Rebel base, if anyone cares.


End file.
